


Owl and Cat

by TajaReyul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, History Gone Wild, One-Shot, challenge, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TajaReyul/pseuds/TajaReyul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Minerva is a Gryffindor and doesn't <i>always</i> stick strictly to the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Owl and Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for minerva_fest 2013 on LJ. I took inspiration from [The Owl and the Pussycat](http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/ns/pussy.html) by Edward Lear. Information on the Belfast Blitz may be found on Wikipedia (and the various sites linked to in, and after, the Wikipedia entry). I am also deeply indebted to the website www.whoohoo.co.uk for the Scottish and Irish dialects. See endnotes for translations of some of the more cryptic (for American readers) phrases. I am extremely grateful to my betas, usernameshlomo and gorgeousbowneye. Any mistakes left are mine alone. And as always, thanks to my personal cheerleader Saint Kargoth.

**Friday, 28th November, 1975 9:15 PM**

Two months into the new term and Minerva had already overseen three detentions for Sirius Black, two of which also included James Potter. Those boys, young men now, were enough to try the patience of a saint.

_And yer no saint, Minnie._ The warm Irish brogue sounded so clear in her head that she almost turned to look over her shoulder.

She stopped herself before she could sigh wistfully, or worse, shed an unseemly tear. Her charges had taken advantage of her momentary lapse of attention and were plotting in whispers instead of working on their essays. “Black! Potter!” she snapped.

They both jumped and glanced up at her with expressions of assumed innocence.

“Since you have not seen fit to avail yourselves of the opportunity to work on your Transfiguration essays at a time and place free from distractions...”

Black's face fell; his eyes held the look of a kicked puppy, while Potter merely froze, unblinking, like a deer on the side of the carriageway, caught in the glare of a lorry's headlamps.

“...I see no need for me to waste any more of my precious time. You are dismissed, _but_ ,” she added sharply, “your Quidditch match on Saturday will have no effect on the Monday morning deadline for your essays. Considering your unfortunate tendencies to end up in the hospital wing after a match, I strongly suggest you finish your essays tonight and leave them with Mr. Lupin to turn in on your behalf.”

The two young men scrambled to gather their belongings and leave before she changed her mind. They weren't quite out of earshot when Black remarked disgustedly and with the myopia of youth, “That old tabby wouldn't know an adventure if it were a flea on her arse.”

_Ah, Mr. Black, if you only knew..._ McGonagall shook her head and slowly began to shuffle the parchments she'd been marking into her briefcase.

**Tuesday, 15th April, 1941 2:43 AM**

A fifteen-year old Minerva McGonagall lay in the bottom of the cat-rigged sailboat and clung to the side. Her face was nearly as green as the peeling paint on the hull. She'd lost the hot-cross buns she'd eaten earlier over the side less than twenty minutes into their late night sail. If she were at home or at Hogwarts, she'd be warm and safe in her bed instead of cold, wet, miserable, sick, and scared half out of her wits.

“Ach, Minnie, I nivver should've let ye tag along,” Teague Hanlon sighed.

“Haud yer weesht,”1 she tried to snarl, but her voice was a thin and pathetic moan. "It's nae like I gave you any real choice."

"That yer did not," he agreed with a grim little smile. "I'd have thought a Prefect and minister's bottle of water2 like yerself would be above blackmail."

"I'd hae thought that anything that would induce the Head Boy tae sneak away from school during the Easter hols would be important enough that you'd want as much help as possible. Just tell me why we hae tae cross the Irish Sea on this scrap of driftwood."

“'Cos it's worth me bollocks ter take ye Side-Along and get yerself splinched. Jayzus, yer like a cat on t' open water. C'mere.” Large, work-roughened hands picked her up and settled her on the plank bench. A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She was so miserable she couldn't even enjoy him holding her. “Teague, I'll get sick on you.”

“Naw, ye've gone an' puked up everythin' ye had in ye. Y'should be sleepin'. The boat's magicked. It won't sink, capsize or run agroun' unless we're hit wit' a powerful hex.”

“I couldnae sleep even if I wasnae such a poor sailor...”

“Shh,” he shushed her and to her surprise he began to sing:

_“Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee_  
_All through the night_  
_Guardian angels God will send thee_  
_All through the night...”_

Lulled by his smooth baritone, Minerva slipped into a light doze. When she woke, the boat rocked gently in place. “Where are we?” she murmured, mindful of the way voices carried on the water.

“Belfast Lough,” he breathed in her ear. “Waitin' for a signal. Ah, there 'tis.”

The boat began moving again and didn't stop until it squelched into the muck of a mud flat. Teague stepped into the ankle-deep water and held out his hand to her. When she hesitated, he spoke low, “Last chance ter back out, Minnie.”

“I haven't come this far nae to see this through,” she said, putting her small hand in his and letting him help her out of the boat.

“That's me bonny lass,” he murmured approvingly.

There was a knot of roughly dressed individuals on the shore. “Who've ye brought wit' ye, Owl?” one asked suspiciously.

“A friend who wants ter help. You can all call 'er Cat.”

The rough-dressed men looked to one of their number, a slightly built person who stood off to the side a little bit.

“Fine,” the leader spoke and Minerva realised it was a woman. “She's yer responsibility.” The leader made a curt motion with her wand and scrolls floated out of a bag at her feet. She handed them out, one to each pair, saving Teague and Minerva for last. “I'm sure I don't need ter remind ye what's at stake, Owl." She didn't allow her stern gaze to leave his face, but Minerva knew what was implied, and blushed hotly.

He smiled grimly. “Why did ye gie me t' name Owl?” he asked with a hint of cheek.

“Very well, then. Off wit' ye.”

Minerva waited until they were well out of earshot before asking, “Why _did_ she gi'e you the name Owl?”

“Because, Minnie," he smirked, "I always deliver. Now come on, we've score of witches wit' children to evacuate before t' Nazis bomb Belfast off the map.”

"That's what this is all about? The Germans are planning an air raid?"

"A big one. I wasn't exaggerating. Yer Muggle-born. Ye know that Belfast is crucial ter t' war effort."

“Why nae tell the Muggle government?"

"As useless as a chocolate taypot, the lot of them. The PM is senile, and the Home Affairs Minister can't hold his drink. We're the only chance the Belfast wizardin' community has. Me mates and their kin managed ter convince quite a few ter voluntarily seek refuge wit' their relations in the country. We're ter evacuate those that are left ter t' Isle of Man."

"What about the Muggles?”

“There's nathin' we can do for them without causin' a panic. They'll have ter shift fer themselves.”

“But--”

“Minnie, it's the witches or the Muggles. There isn't time ter save both.”

Her mouth tightened disapprovingly. “Very well.”

“I don't like it either.”

“Let's go. Generations of Belfast wizardfolk are at stake.”

He gave her a tight little smile of approval and they set off.

They made their way through the rapidly-lightening streets, spreading the word, repeating the same message numerous times: leave now; take only what is essential. Teague handed out Portkey after Portkey. Minerva expected the witches to argue about leaving their homes, but none did. Teague was careful to explain straight off that teams were going to the factories to fetch their husbands, and they'd all meet up in a safe location.

By that evening, they'd evacuated all twenty families. Teague had one Portkey left.

"Back to Scotland?" Minerva asked.

"Yer not givin' up are ye? Rebellious minister's daughter like yerself?"

She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin.

He grinned and shook his head. "Naw, we're not done yet. We have ter help the refugees settle inter their new digs."

"All right," she said gamely and put her hand on the half-wadded. half-folded newspaper that smelt of fish and malt vinegar. Teague wrapped his arm about her shoulders once more, and then Minerva felt the characteristic sideways tug behind her navel that signalled Portkey travel.

The Portkey deposited them outside a huge whitewashed barn with a thatched roof. "There are only four wizard families on the Isle," explained Teague. "All of them are willing ter take in Belfast families temporarily, but until they c'n clear space, it's this."

He pushed the door open. The barn was filled with people, standing or sitting in groups or milling about. Babies and some of the smaller children were crying, but the adults were more or less calm. One young mother sat off to the side, nursing her baby, silent tears running down her face. Minerva recalled that she was the only witch they'd evacuated whose husband was a Muggle.

"Teague," Minerva pointed with her chin, "I'm going tae talk tae her if you need me."

"Go on wit' ye." He turned and headed toward his mates. Minerva made her way over to the witch who was most likely not more than a year or two older than she was herself.

"Has the team sent to fetch your husband nae returned yet, missus?"

"'e's not comin'. 'e wouldn't go wit' em. 'is brothers all work at the factory too. When yer team said they could only take 'imself 'e said 'e'd take 'is chances wit' 'is brothers."

"I'm sorry. I know many men that would do much the same, I'm afraid, as long as they could be certain that their bairns were safe." Minerva retrieved her handkerchief from her cloak pocket and gave it to the young woman. "Here. I'm Cat."

"Daimhin," the young matron replied, taking the proffered handkerchief. "Ta." She dabbed at her eyes and nose one-handed. "My Fergal, 'e defied his mam and da ter marry me. 'is brothers said I was touched, but they all came ter the weddin'."

Minerva smiled wryly. "Hufflepuffs, then? If they'd had a wee dram of magic, that is."

Daimhin answered with a tiny smile of her own and then sighed. "If your information is right, Oisin won't be the only babe ter grow up fatherless."

"We'll hope for the best, shall we? Until we ken something definite."

Daimhin nodded. "Ye'd best get back ter yer man. I'll be fine."

"He's nae really my man," Minerva was forced to admit.

"Ye sure abou' that?"

Minerva raised her gaze to where Teague stood with his mates. She'd certainly have him as hers if she could. He'd been her Quidditch captain until this year when he'd been selected to be Head Boy. Claiming that being both was too much responsibility, he'd quit the Quidditch team altogether to concentrate on his studies. Smart, brave, well-liked by professors and ruggedly handsome with magical talent to spare, he inspired many a sigh amongst the female population of Hogwarts.

Recalling the events of the previous evening, Minerva smiled a little to herself. She'd fallen asleep over her books in the Common Room, and awakened when he'd sneaked down the stairs from his dormitory.

"Where are you off tae at this hour?" she'd demanded.

He'd turned slowly, and fixed her with the steely glare that had served him so well through many a Quidditch practice. "None of your business, McGonagall. Git up ter yer dorm."

She'd held firm against his stare. "You may be Head Boy, but that doesnae gi'e ye the right to wander about the castle after curfew."

"Not goin' ter be in the castle for long," he'd muttered.

"Where are ye going? Out tae meet some lass from Hogsmeade, I suppose," she said with a disdainful little sniff.

He'd snorted in disgust. "Nathin' so sweet as that, Minnie. I have ter go. Lives are dependin' on it."

Minerva sat up straighter. "If it's that serious, ye should hae someone along tae help," she said earnestly.

"No, Minnie. Absolutely not, Yer too young and--" he'd broken off

"And what, Hanlon?" she asked challengingly.

"And yer a lass. This is too dangerous."

She'd pressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line. "If you don't take me with you, I'll report you out of bounds tae Professor Dumbledore."

He'd sighed. "All right, fetch yer cloak."

Minerva had raised her wand, and wordlessly Summoned her cloak from her room. "You're nae getting rid of me that easily."

Now she watched him as he talked with the rest of the rescue team. She realised he'd truly expected her to back out once she'd seen the tiny sailboat waiting for them on the shore of the Black Lake. When she hadn't, he'd given her an impressed look. It had been bespelled, starting to move as soon as they were seated even though there'd not been a breath of wind. The boat had acted rather like a Portkey once they were underway, transporting them to the middle of the Irish Sea.

As if aware of her scrutiny, Teague looked up and smiled, motioning for her to join the rest of them where they were gathered around a Wireless provided by the barn's owner. She wove her way through the crowd to take the place he made for her by his side. The Wireless was tuned to a Belfast broadcast.

"What news?" Minerva whispered to Teague.

"Nathin' yet, but it won't be long. Luftwaffe bombers have been spotted overhead, headin' fer Belfast."

"They willnae bomb the Isle, will they?"

Teague shrugged. "Some of the laggards might, but the first few didn't. I tol' ye to stay at Hogwarts."

"Was it nae your countryman who said, 'When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle'?3 I'd hae come along nae matter what."

His face split with a grin. "Ach, M--Cat, yer a Gryffindor through and through. There's not many others I'd choose to have at me side."

"Hush!" the woman who was in charge of the rescuers snapped. She raised her wand and risked a brief flash of light to get the refugees' attention, and turned up the volume on the wireless.

_"... repeat, the Germans have bombed the waterworks! Report to your local air raid shelters or seek cover immediately..._ They could all hear the air raid sirens screaming in the background. The announcer repeated his message a few more times in Gaelic and English, and then the broadcast cut off abruptly.

Silence reigned for several long minutes, and then someone began playing 'The Flowers of the Forest' on a set of uilleann pipes. A fiddler and tinwhistles soon joined in. When the song was finished, someone cleared their throat and recited:

"Rest eternal grant to them, O Lord; and let light perpetual shine upon them. May their souls, and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace."

"Amen," responded Minerva automatically, along with everyone else in the barn.

Teague's arms came about her and he buried his face in her hair for just a moment. When he pulled back, she could see unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. He cleared his throat and let her go but for one arm slung companionably about her shoulders.

There was a peculiar knock on the big barn door, and the slight buzz of conversation stilled. The member of the rescue team guarding the door opened it slightly to let in three men. The squat guard, whom the team had called Natterjack, exchanged a few words with the newcomers and then stood aside.

"Spealáin and Moran families. Ó Ceallacháin and Burke, " one of the men called out. "Yer wit' me."

More names were called and the refugees slowly gathered their few belongings and followed their hosts to their temporary homes. Teague left his arm where it rested.

"Pig, flog me yer ring," he said suddenly.

"What? Yer off yer nut," replied Pig.

"I can't propose marriage without a ring."

"Dinnae fash me,4 Owl," Minerva said severely, trying to quash the hope that suddenly bloomed in her chest.

"Come on, it means feck all to you," Teague said to Pig.

"Shilling," replied Pig, both of them ignoring Minerva's apparent disapproval.

"Don't have Muggle money. I'll gie ye a Sickle fer it."

"Teague--" Minerva began.

"Minnie, I know we're too young," he cut her off. "We both have ter finish school, and there's a war on, but I've nivver met a lass with as much bottom as ye. If you'll have me, I'll wait fer ye ter finish school."

Minerva's heart leapt, but her good sense urged caution. "Two years is a long time, and this is quite unexpected," she said carefully.

He blushed. "I've long admired the way ye fly yer broom. Yer the brightest witch I know, wit' or without magic. Ye've got all the younger years well cowed and half of those above ye as well. A bloke could do a lot worse than ter have ye as his bride. Do ye not care fer me at all? Was I imagining all those admirin' looks?"

"No," she replied with a blush of her own. "You werenae imagining anything."

Teague dug in his pocket and produced a silver Sickle which he gave Pig in exchange for the gold ring.

"The Minister for Magic has put out the call fer wizards ter form a new sort of law enforcement squad, one that will have a mandate ter operate outside our borders. When I leave school, I'm goin' ter join. Gie me somethin' back home to think on, someone ter come home fer." He held out the ring to her.

**Friday, 28th November, 1975 9:37 PM**

Briefcase packed up, Minerva made her way through the castle, and climbed the stairs to the staff wing. Though her heart was heavy that evening, her step was still graceful and light as a cat's.

She had accepted the ring that Teague had offered all those years ago, but insisted because of their young age that it was merely a promise ring, and they'd returned to school. They'd managed to slip back into their dorms undetected, or so she'd thought, until Professor Dumbledore summoned her and Teague to his office. He'd quizzed them gently while fixing them with his too-perceptive gaze. They didn't admit to anything, but Minerva had been left with the distinct impression that their Head of House had known what they'd got up to just the same.

For the final term of the year, Minerva and Teague had been Hogwarts' golden couple. She wore his ring on a ribbon around her neck. He'd escorted her to the village for the last three Hogsmeade weekends, and they celebrated together Gryffindor's victory over Ravenclaw in the final Quidditch match of the season. They'd spent many an afternoon revising, she for her O.W.L.s, he for his N.E.W.T.s. They even stole a few minutes here and there in the Astronomy tower on summer evenings.

Then the term had ended. Teague had left school, and joined the Minister's new band of 'Aurors'. He'd travelled all over Europe, fighting against Dark wizards who were helping the Axis powers. Minerva had written often over the next year, and he wrote back somewhat less frequently. One day, the letters had stopped arriving with no explanation. She'd grieved for months and wondered what had happened to him, but there was no one she could write to and ask. Since she hadn't told her parents about him, she couldn't be sure he'd told his about her. Had he gone off her? Met someone else? Neither possibility had seemed likely, not without some word from Teague. She'd eventually been forced to conclude that he'd died, but it wasn't until two full years later, after the war had ended, that Minerva finally learned what had happened to her one-time suitor.

One day at the Ministry, Minerva had run into one of Teague's former colleagues. He'd told her that Teague's partner on that last mission in Italy had been a very green recruit, who had fallen victim to an Imperius curse. The young man had been forced by a Dark wizard to kill Teague and then himself. The incident had been hushed up to preserve morale. The Auror told her the whole story, as well as how much her letters had meant to Teague. "We could be knee-deep in mud, cold, wet, miserable, hungry, and scared, but when your owl found him, he couldn't stop grinning," he'd said.

Once in her quarters, Minerva poured herself two fingers of Ogden's Finest in her water glass. She went to her dressing table and opened her jewellery case. Within it, on a faded red ribbon, was the ring Teague had bought for a single silver Sickle. Yes, she could recognise an adventure like rescuing witches and their babies from Nazi bombs. She could also see the more subtle adventures such as learning the difficult Animagus transformation, or teaching subsequent generations Transfiguration, and guiding those young people into adulthood.

Minerva ran her fingertip over the ring. Teague's voice, so clear in her mind earlier, was silent. She raised her glass in a silent toast and drained it in one swallow. When she cried a single tear, she blamed it on the firewhisky.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. 'Haud yer weesht' - 'Shut up' or 'be quiet.'  
> 2\. 'Bottle of water' - 'Daughter' (rhyming slang)  
> 3\. Edmund Burke.  
> 4\. 'Dinnae fash me' - 'Don't tease me.'


End file.
